10

By midmorning the searchers were leaving Redwall Abbey with Skipper and his two stalwart otter mates acting as guards. The party was composed mainly of grown-up creatures, with Ruggum and Bikkle hemmed neatly in the middle of the shrews, still protesting at being excused from their tart-baking duties. Apodemus locked the main gates behind them and climbed up to the north ramparts. He stood watching his creatures trudge away up the path until they cut off at an angle into Mossflower Wood.

The going was fair, as they kept up a leisurely pace through the woodlands. Log a Log Groo and the Guosim shrews knew the exact location where they had found the two Dibbuns. This took a lot of guesswork out of the route.

Crikulus tramped alongside the shrew leader. “D’you happen to know that old Guosim song, ‘Footlecum Durr,’ I think it was called? I heard one of your beasts singin’ it when you visited the Abbey last winter. I like it.”

Log a Log Groo kept his eyes on the path ahead. “Even if I did, I couldn’t sing it, old ’un. I’m more of a dancer than a singer. Hoi, Burrl, you know that’n, don’t ye, ‘Footlecum Durr’? Sing it out good’n’loud for us.”

Burrl was a smallish, skinny-looking shrew, but he had a voice like a foghorn. He sang out loud and clear:

“Young Footlecum Durr, I do declare,

Was a fanciful little shrew.

With waxy grease he curled his fur

An’ wore a greatcoat o’ blue.

His ma was ever so fond of him,

That lest his paws should bruise

She made for him from aspen skin

A brand-new pair of shoes.

Well, pickle my fur, I tell you, sir,

Do you believe the news?

O what to do, a Guosim shrew,

Clompin’ about in shoes!

With laces green, the best you’ve seen,

An’ silver bells each end,

He strutted here an’ swaggered there,

An’ jigged about no end

’Til Footlecum took off his shoes,

An’ paddlin’ went one day.

Then a big old owl, the thievin’ fowl,

Swooped down an’ stole ’em away.

So now in the night, if you wake in a fright

At a strange sound in the air,

Tis only that bird that you have heard

In the shoes of Footlecum Durr.

Too whit too woo, a ding dong clomp,

He’s dancin’ round out there,

Pursued by a shrew, cryin’ out ‘Hey you,

They’re the shoes of Footlecum Durr!’ ”

Ruggum thought the song was hilarious and shook Burrl’s paw. “Gurtly singed, zurr. Fooklum Gurr, ee’m wurr a sillybeast!”

It was sometime before midnoon when Log a Log called a halt. “This is about where we found the liddle ’uns. Let’s ’ave lunch an’ see if’n they can tell us which ways they went from ’ere to find that big ole tree with the door in it.”

Malbun and Crikulus doled out barley farls, soft white cheese and flasks of pale cider. Both were glad to be rid of the extra weight they had been carrying. Skipper split his farl and packed it with cheese. Before he took a bite, he called the two Dibbuns to his side and questioned them. “Well, me ole mates, d’ye know where the old oak is from ’ere?”

Bikkle gestured in a wide arc nonchalantly. “H’east norfwest, or souf I fink!”

Crikulus could not help wagging a stern paw at her. “East northwest and south, that’s a great help. Well, what have you got to say for yourself, Ruggum, eh?”

The little mole clapped his paws together and chortled. “Hurr hurr, oi did loike ee song bowt Fooklum Gurr, zurr!”

Malbun stroked the molebabe’s velvet-soft head. “Crikulus means do you know the way to the oak tree where you and Bikkle sheltered from the storm?”

Ruggum answered candidly. “Oi carn’t be sayin’, marm, et wurr dark an’ gurtly rainy ee see. ’Tain’t gudd furr foin-den ee way abowt in darkly rainy weathers, burr no!”

Sister Vernal’s murmur was audible. “They’d have been more useful in the kitchens baking tarts!”

Malbun was about to say something when she was knocked suddenly backwards by a big dark bird, which had zoomed down without warning. She clutched her chin and cried out, “Aargh, what was that?”

Another one followed like lightning, pecking the cheese from Gurdle Sprink’s paw. He swiped at it and missed. The bird swooped away into the trees amid a chorus of harsh cawing.

Skipper roared to his two otters and the shrews, “Crows, a whole gang o’ the villains! Protect those two babes, mates. I ain’t got a sling! Anybeast carryin’ sling an’ stones with ’em?”

Log a Log drew his rapier, casting an eye at the treetops. The big, dark-feathered scavengers were massing in the branches, watching the Redwallers menacingly. The Guosim leader kept his voice low and spoke calmly.

“My shrews never brought slings along, not that chuckin’ stones’d do much good. There’s too many of ’em. It looks like we’re in real trouble, mates!”

Gurdle rubbed at the deep scratches on his paw. “Those birds are after our vittles! ’Tis the food they want. What d’ye think, Skip?”

The otter nodded, forming a plan in his mind as he spoke. “Aye, I think yore right, mate. We can’t stand an’ fight, they’ve got us outnumbered. Best thing we can do is to get out of ’ere safe an’ sound. Log a Log, you an’ yore shrews will be up front when we go. Keep the two Dibbuns, old Crikulus an’ Sister Vernal with ye. Malbun, Gurdle, an’ the rest, you stay close be’ind ’em. Me ’n’ my two ottercrew’ll cover yore backs.”

Skipper sidled casually over to where the two foodpacks were lying. Sliding his javelin through the handles, he lifted them cautiously off the ground.

The crows began crying out with renewed harshness. Skipper warded off two of them with a swipe of his rudder. They perched boldly on a raised tree root nearby. Hopping along the high branches, the rest of the crows dropped down to lower boughs threateningly. Skipper’s keen eyes flicked from side to side, assessing the situation fully. He spoke gently to his friends.

“Lissen now, you start movin’ out, slowly does it. But when you ’ears me shout Redwall, then go as fast as yore paws’ll carry ye. Log a Log, get out o’ the woods an’ onto the path as quick as ye can. Now, get goin’, easy-like.”

As soon as the party tried to shuffle off quietly, the crows dropped even lower, cawing agitatedly. Skipper distracted the birds’ attention by grabbing the food packs and laughing loudly.

“Haharrhar, ye winged vermin, is this wot ye want? Fresh bread an’ good soft cheese? I wager there’s a few liddle cakes in these packs, too, let’s take a look, eh!”

Loosening the straps on the two small knapsacks, he swung them in the opposite direction from the retreating Redwallers. There were cakes, some candied chestnuts, too; the whole lot, together with bread, cheese and cider flask, scattered wholesale, bouncing off treetrunks and spilling into the shrubbery. Squawking and pecking at one another, the scavenging crows fought among themselves as they pounced on the food. Skipper threw back his head and roared,

“Redwaaaaaallllll!”

Stunning the birds in his path with thwacks from his javelin, he took off after the main party, who were now plunging headlong through the woodlands. Ruggum and Bikkle had not been scared since the crows’ first appearance, surrounded by big, grown-up Redwallers. They felt perfectly safe. Bikkle was swept along, two shrews holding her paws. Lifting both footpaws from the ground, she was carried onward, giggling as she dangled in the air. It was good fun. Ruggum ran on his own for a while, then stumbled and fell. Before he could be alarmed at the main body passing him by, he was swept up onto Skipper’s powerful shoulders. Grabbing the otter’s ears, the molebabe hung on, gurgling, “Hurrhurrhurr, ee bee’s a gurt game, can ee goo farster, zurr Skip?”

By the sound of the crows behind him, Skipper could tell they had decimated the foodpacks. Keeping his eyes on the path ahead, he assured the incorrigible molebabe, “Aye, mate, we’d best step the pace up. Those birds’ll be comin’ after us soon. Move on up there, mates, faster!”

Some of the older creatures were panting hard, so Skipper’s two ottercrew mates and the Guosim shrews gallantly lent helping paws to speed them on to the safety of the path. Now the crows were on their trail, their raucous cawing echoing louder as they approached. Gurdle Sprink slowed his pace, allowing Skipper to catch up with him.

The Cellarhog glanced over his shoulder, puffing and panting. “Can’t go on much further, Skip. You go on, I’ll stay ’ere an’ make a stand for us. Should ’old em off awhile.”

Skipper shoved an end of his javelin into the hedgehog’s paws. “No such thing, mate. Who’d be left t’brew good ale an’ cordials for the Abbey? See, there’s the path up yonder. Grab ahold of this javelin with me, we’ll run together!”

Ruggum reached over and patted Gurdle’s spiked head. “Yurr, coom on, zurr, us’n’s won’t leaven ee behoind!”

Log a Log was first onto the path. He shouted to his shrews as they hurried out of the woodlands, “Grab some stones, Guosim, we’ll show those scurvy scum!”

More Redwallers poured out onto the open path, as they took the shrew’s advice and gathered pawfuls of rough stones. A big crow was flying up behind Skipper, homing in on the back of Ruggum’s neck, when a stone struck it square on the beak. Other crows found themselves pelted with a lively salvo of large pebbles and chunks of rock.

Skipper was last, but finally he made it to the path. Lifting Ruggum down, he picked up stones and began whizzing them off at the angry crows with amazing accuracy, chuckling wolfishly. “Haharr, buckoes, come an’ chew on some o’ this!”

But the crows would not leave the tree cover, knowing they would be at a disadvantage on open ground. They took to the branches, hopping awkwardly about and cawing harsh disapproval of their would-be quarry’s tactics.

Old Crikulus was a surprisingly good rock thrower. He knocked a crow clean out of its tree with his first try. “You great filthy cowards, how d’ye like some of your own medicine, eh, eh? Here, try this’n for size!”

The unexpected retaliation was too much for the crows, and they quickly retreated back into the safety of the woods. Skipper hooked his rudder under Ruggum’s smock cord, hauling him back as the molebabe went to chase after the crows with a rock he could scarcely carry.

“Cease fire, me ole mate, we’ve sent ’em packin’.”

Ruggum rolled his rock off among the trees and dusted his paws. He shouted after the distantly cawing birds.

“Yurr, an’ doant ee cum back or oi’ll give ee billyoh, you’m gurt villyun rarscals!”

The remainder of the journey was uneventful. Skipper and his party reached the Abbey in time for afternoon tea. Abbot Apodemus opened the gates for them.

“Great seasons, you lot look as if you’ve been through some sort of adventure. What happened, my friends, tell me?”

Skipper made his report as they strolled across the lawns to the Abbey.

The Father Abbot reflected on the story. “No treasures found today—but some lessons learnt. Ah well, no great harm done. You’re all back safe and sound, just in time for afternoon tea, I might add.”

Sister Vernal smiled eagerly, for teatime was her special favourite. “Oh good, blackberry cream tarts!”

Apodemus shook his head woefully as they entered the Abbey. “Please, sister, don’t even mention blackberry cream tarts to me. They’ll haunt my dreams for seasons to come.”

Malbun stifled a smile. “What happened? Did something go wrong with the Dibbuns’ tart baking?”

The Abbot was still shaking his head with despair. “Did anything go right? It was the Dab organisation, you remember: Dibbuns Against Bedtime. On some pretext or other they got Memm and Foremole out of the kitchens, then the rascals ran back and bolted themselves in. Come and see.”

When they arrived at the kitchens the door was off its hinges. Gooch the cook and his assistant, Furrel, were sorting through a selection of damaged tools they had borrowed from the wine cellars to unscrew the door hinges.

Gurdle Sprink clapped his paw to his brow. “Oh corks, is that my best bungspike? Looks more like a confounded corkscrew!”

Memm Flackery emerged from the kitchens, spattered from ears to tail with blackberry preserve and meadowcream. “Steady on, old lad. Don’t blame poor Gooch, ’twas me who borrowed your gear. ’Fraid we had to, wot! Those little cads locked us out! We had to break back in, or the jolly old kitchens would’ve never been the same again!”

Crikulus peered in at the chaos that had been caused. “Hmm, looks like they took to decoratin’ the place with flour, preserve an’ cream. Where are the Dibbuns now?”

Foremole Urrm wiped flour from his snout. “Oi got ’em all locked oop in ee veggible store, zurr. Tukk moi loife in moi paws doin’ et. They’m was fierce h’infants!”

Skipper called on his two ottercrew to support him as guards. “Right, shipmates, let’s parade these fierce h’infants out an’ see wot they got to say for ’emselves!”

Some of the Dibbuns were so coated with baking ingredients that they were unrecognisable. Malbun pointed to one, who looked like he could be a mole.

“You there, stand up straight and take your paws out of that apron pocket. What’s your name? Speak up!”

The Dibbun licked cream from his chin. “Oi’m Roobil, marm.”

Friar Gooch pointed accusingly at him. “Roobil, that’s him. He was the ringleader!”

Malbun Grimp stared at the line of bespattered babes. “You know where you are going now, don’t you?”

A small voice murmured regretfully, “H’up to bed, marm.”

Memm eyed Roobil. “Tell him he’s jolly well wrong. Explain to him where you wretches are going first, wot wot wot?”

Roobil scuffed a footpaw across the floor, leaving a smear of blackberry preserve as he did. “Burr, straight in ee barff oi apposes.”

The Harenurse waggled a paw under his snout. “Correct, sah, straight into the blinkin’ bath, an’ one whimper out of anybeast an’ I’ll bathe you twice!”

Sister Vernal lectured the miscreants severely. “Look at you, look at these kitchens! Shame on you. Rogues! Right, it’s bath, bed and no supper for the lot of you!”

Roobil rubbed his small but bulging stomach ruefully. “Us’n’s couldn’t manage no more vikkles to be eaten, marm.”

Friar Gooch stamped a paw on the floor. “Don’t dare talk back, you dreadful Dibbuns. You should be ashamed o’ yoreselves. Away with you and get bathed. That’s unless you have anything to add, Father Abbot?”

Apodemus used his sternest tone. “I’ll see you all in Great Hall tomorrow before breakfast. That’s when I’ll decide what must be done. You’re all on Abbot’s Report!”

The Dibbuns exchanged shocked glances as they were led off, dumbstruck: Abbot’s Report was a very serious matter.

It was only when they were safely out of earshot that Skipper broke down laughing. “Aharrharrharr! Did y’see the liddle faces on ’em, harr harr!”

Memm Flackery sniffed at the otter’s remark. “I fail t’see anythin’ funny at all, sah!”

The Abbot tried hard to keep a straight face, but failed. “That Roobil, hahaha! We could’ve stood him on the table as an ornament at a feast. Hohoho! I’ve never seen anybeast with that much preserve and cream on him. He, hahaha, he looked like a little statue!”

Suddenly they were all laughing, even Memm. “Hawhawhaw! That mousebabe Turfee, he will turn into a bloomin’ statue if all that flour’n’water dries on him, wot!”

Everybeast had forgotten about Ruggum and Bikkle, who were still present. Both were quite peeved at having missed all the fun.

Ruggum viewed the matter sternly. “Hurr, they’m surrpintly vurry naughty beasts. If’n oi wurr ee, zurr h’Abbot, oi’d choppen thurr tails off, burr aye!”

With a swift paw gesture the Abbot warned the others to cease their merriment.

“Quite right, Ruggum. I hope you and Bikkle never behave as badly as they have. Better go and wash your paws for tea.”

Bikkle looked as though butter would not melt in her mouth. “Ho no, Farver, we’s very good likkle beasts, not never like those naughty Dibbuns, never ever!”

When they had gone, Apodemus turned to the elders. “Thank you for not laughing, friends. We’ve got to show an example to the young ’uns. Friar Gooch, would it be possible for you and Furrel to try and arrange some tea for us? Anything will do.”

Gooch bobbed a small bow to the Abbot. “I’ll see wot we can do, sir. Per’aps you’d all like to take tea in the orchard? ’Tis still a fine day.”

Apodemus patted the Friar’s paw. “Splendid idea. Thank you, my friend.”

Tea in the orchard was extremely pleasant. Gooch provided them with some of his seedcake, thin cucumber sandwiches and hot mint tea. Memm sat next to Malbun Grimp, listening to the account of the crow attack.

The Harenurse poured tea for them both. “Crow attack, eh? Doesn’t sound half as blinkin’ bad as the Dibbun attack we put up with back here, little rotters! Oh well, I s’pose that’s put paid to your hopes of rediscoverin’ that old badger place, what was the name of it, Brockhall? ’Spect you’ll never find it now, wot?”

Malbun blew on her tea to cool it. “I’m not givin’ up that easy, and neither is Crikulus. Never fear, I’m thinking up a new plan already. Crows don’t fly at night. The two Dibbuns weren’t bothered by them when they were lost and alone at night in the woodlands.”

Crikulus, who was seated nearby, brightened up. “Of course, that’s when we’ll return to search the area!”

Memm helped herself to an extra-large slice of seedcake. “Huh, wouldn’t be me, old lad, indeed not. Trampin’ all over Mossflower hopin’ t’find some old ruin, wot!”

Gurdle supped tea noisily. “But yore fergettin’ the pawring those Dibbuns found. I’ll wager there’s treasure aplenty t’be found at Brock’all. That’s somethin’ worth goin’ t’look for, ain’t it?”

The Abbot had been listening to the conversation. Folding both paws into his wide sleeves, he leaned back against a pear tree and let the sun warm his old whiskers. “Perhaps next time you could take the Dibbuns along with you. Armed with blackberry cream tarts. I wager there’s not a crow alive wouldn’t turn tail at the sight of that.”

Foremole shook his head gravely. “You’m roight thurr, zurr!”